


Everything Else

by iridescentglow



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: Multi, Threesome, non-linear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentglow/pseuds/iridescentglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim reflects on his relationship with Jason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything Else

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** #1.02, 'Eyes Wide Open'
> 
> I'm developing this annoying habit of writing stories inside out. I hope this one errs on the side of "pleasingly non-linear", rather than just plain confusing. Big thank you to eolivet for the beta.

Maybe it's just that he can't stand hospitals. They remind him of his mom dying. That's too easy, though. Everyone has their reasons for hating hospitals—even if it's just instinctive; something about the long corridors, the over-powering smell of disinfectant.

Maybe he really does blame himself for Jason's accident. He's used to blame, guilt, and the anger that inevitably sparks from beneath them. Blame is easy. _You wanna hate me? Go right ahead_.

Or maybe he's just motherfucking cunt asshole. He's pretty sure that's Lyla's theory, although he can't imagine those words coming out of her mouth. Maybe all he cares about is himself. Maybe he's rotten to the fucking core.

All these things might explain why he hasn't visited Jason in the hospital. But they're only part of the story. None of them come close to the whole truth.

*

He stands in the shadowy corridor of Jason's ward (the "ward for people whose spines are fucked" or whatever it's called). A nurse passes him and he avoids her gaze. He tries to look scrupulously nonchalant, like he is someone who belongs there—anything but the skulking creep he really is. _This is how babies get snatched_, he thinks blackly. The hospital's security is laughable. Lyla's boasts about having the place "wired" are bullshit; he has snuck in after visiting hours every night this week and no one has batted an eyelash.

He watches Lyla leave, ponytail and cheerleading skirt _swish_-ing in unison. It is 10:15 p.m. exactly. This is the time she leaves at every night. He guesses that forty-five minutes is the minimum amount of time she requires to drive home and shower, in order to be in bed by eleven.

Tim sucks in a lungful of breath and walks to the doorway of Jason's room.

*

(_The ending—_)

"Lyla Garrity? You're fucking kidding me, right?" Tim laughed raucously. Viciousness threaded his voice as he watched Jason's face crumple. "You're not seriously thinking of taking her out?"

"We have a date on Tuesday," Jason replied. Despite his hangdog expression, his voice was solid, determined.

"_Tues_day? Dude, she is fucking _toying_ with you. Leaving her options open for the weekend."

"There's a movie she wants to see that's playing in a theater on the other side of town," Jason said. Calm, obstinate. "It's only playing Tuesday."

Tim sagged forward before the fire, shaking his head. He was going to say more, but he didn't think he could deal with the sudden sanctimonious pitch to Jay's voice. _Think you're such a fucking perfect little—_

"Aw, I think it's _sweet_," Tyra chimed in, her voice lightly teasing. "Jason's got himself a little cheerleader groupie. He's outgrowing us, Tim. Looking for more refined company."

Jason grinned. "Would you two quit it? It's no big deal."

Tim caught Jason's eye. _It's a big fucking deal and you know it. It's you choosing something else_. "She'll never fuck you," he mumbled, his eyes not leaving Jason's. "Not until you're married, anyway. The good ones never do."

Tim felt Tyra's hands swatting at his arm. "Hey!" she said. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Abruptly, Tim turned to Tyra. He grasped her wrists, attempting to hold her still as she wriggled restlessly in his grasp. "Are you really the marrying kind?" he asked, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh of the insides of her wrists.

"Maybe not." She exhaled a soft burst of laughter. "Maybe there are more fun things…" She trailed off as he leaned in close to kiss her.

"Tim—" she murmured and he saw her eyes dart in Jason's direction. She surrendered to him only a light kiss—a public kiss; the kind of kiss that doesn't embarrass your friends—but he kissed back harder. His tongue pushed inside her mouth, hot and demanding. He released her arms only in order run his hands over her body. He made expert strokes of her breasts that easily found the blunt nub of her nipple, coaxing it hard through the layers of her clothing.

Tim kept his eyes closed, his focus on Tyra. Nonetheless, he savored the feeling of Jason's eyes on him; the certainty that Jay was watching them. _Show him what he'll be missing with Lyla Garrity. Fuck yeah._

*

Technically, it began on the day Tyra said idly, "you ever think about having a threesome?"

(He pinned her arms above her head, murmuring into the hollow of her neck. "You, me and Charlize Theron? Anytime, baby."

Tyra's body arched beneath him. She spread her legs. She waited until his first thrust inside her to reply, "I was thinking more like you, me and Jason Street.")

 

Maybe it began way before then, when Tim rammed into Jason so hard on the football field during their first practice together that the coach thought he might have knocked Jason out.

(Tim reached out a hand to help him up. "You alright?" he said gruffly.

Jason grinned, cricking his neck as he climbed to his feet. "I'm great," he said, and then added, by way of explanation, "I'm playing football. What else is there?")

 

Maybe it began on the very first day of high school, when someone called Tim a fag and he beat them down so hard that he spent the rest of his first week on suspension.

*

(_Dig deeper, go further back—_)

"How's this gonna work?" Tyra asked loudly. Tim found it oddly reassuring that her bossy, take-charge attitude transferred to even the most unnerving of situations. "Are there, like, _rules_?"

"First rule," Tim muttered, "we don't fucking talk about this. To anyone." As he said the words, he wondered who he would even have cause to tell. His circle of friends was pretty small. In fact, they were both standing in his bedroom at that moment.

Tim turned to look hard at Tyra. "That means _you_ keep your mouth _shut_." He decided against adding a joke about cocksucking, at the risk of pissing her off. Even though this whole fucked up thing had been her idea, she seemed noticeably skittish; he didn't want her running for the door.

"Hey"—Tyra gave him an arch look—"I'm not the one who spends half my life in a fucking _locker room_."

Tim smiled reluctantly at her. _Touché_. He glanced over at Jason, who was lolling against the doorframe, glassy-eyed. "How 'bout you?" Tim asked him.

"…me, what?" Jason mumbled.

"Rules," Tim clarified, a hard edge in his voice.

When Jason didn't reply, Tyra stepped forward. "You sure you wanna do this, Jay?" she asked bracingly. Tim couldn't recall ever hearing her call Jason _"Jay"_ before.

Jason still didn't reply. Tyra reached out to touch him. Her fingers skimmed lightly over his chest, before her hand came to rest near his waist. Her other hand cupped his chin, tilting his face down to meet hers.

As Tim watched them kiss, he felt his a tug in his groin; a dull clamp on his heart. For the first few moments of their kiss, Jason was startled; paralyzed and powerless to do much except let Tyra kiss him. Watching Tyra grow reckless, pressing closer to Jay, was a surreal, headache-inducing experience. (Although, the pounding in his head might have something to do the large amount of alcohol he had consumed—alcohol they had _all_ consumed.) Jason pulled Tyra closer, his fingers fumbling low over her ass. Tim had the sense that this was him giving in—to temptation, to whatever it was all those sermons preached against. _Fuck_. This was all wrong.

Tyra broke away from Jason. Breathlessly, she turned to Tim. "He's a good kisser," she told him. She was almost purring with delight. "Are you going to kiss him? Have you ever—?"

Roughly, Tim pulled Tyra toward him. Her hips rolled against him, and he replaced Jason's hands on her ass with his own. "I'm gonna fuck you now," he said in a low voice. "He can watch—he can fuck you later. But that's it." Tim's eyes flicked upward, taking in Jason's swollen lips, his dazed expression. "That's all."

*

The door to Jason's room is open. He is just a shadowy mass on the bed; stiff, immovable, perfectly horizontal. Tim slackens against the doorframe; he is equally unable to move.

This is what they have become. It feels like punishment—it _must_ be punishment.

*

(_Not the beginning, but some kind of beginning—_)

The Street family kitchen was filled with the bright white sunlight characteristic of early springtime. Tim gulped at his lemonade and reached for another cookie. No matter how much time passed, it could always be counted on that if he stopped by Jason's house, Mrs. Street would give him homemade lemonade and oatmeal cookies. It was a standing joke that this was the only reason he and Jason were friends.

Tim laughed suddenly. He opened his mouth to speak and then stopped himself.

Jason smiled, curious. "What?"

"M_an_… Tyra." Tim shook his head, still grinning. "She's fucking crazy."

"You just figuring that out?" Jason asked. Quietly judgemental was about as close as Jay got to being mean.

"It's just something she said last night…" Tim couldn't remember why he had brought this up. Just last week Tyra had, only half-serious, suggested that they buy some nipple clamps; the threesome idea was probably just another one of her fads.

Jason colored slightly. "Then maybe you _shouldn't_ tell me."

Tim looked away, glancing out the window at the front yard, where Jason's #6 sign stood erect, waiting patiently for football season. He murmured, "Maybe," and allowed the moment to drift back into silence. He and Jay were not big talkers, and that was just fine.

That night, wasted on beer, maybe he would tell Jason about Tyra's idea—wait for Jay's head to explode; wait for… that _look_. Wait for him to say no.

Tim glanced back at Jason, who gifted him with a smile.

"You okay?" There was a sticky note of concern in Jason's voice; a slight uneasy tint to his smile.

Tim said, "I'm great."

They settled back into silence.


End file.
